SA Trauma-Informed Pilates

T H E Y E A R A F T E R

My Story I was raped when I was 24 by a stranger who had found his way into my apartment building and hidden behind the stairwell, waiting. I believe I just happened to be the one who arrived home at the wrong time. The man followed me upstairs to my 5th floor walk-up apartment and choked my neck as soon as I had unlocked the door, dragging me inside and shutting us in. I spent a long time hating myself for opening the door, because my guts had been screaming at me that something was wrong with the guy. It’s amazing and tragic how commonly victims of sexual assault find ways to hold themselves responsible for the crimes committed against them.

The man raped me at knifepoint, rummaged through my apartment, and shockingly, left. In a daze, I called 911, my roommate, a few friends. Help came. I went to the ER. I got a rape kit. I talked to detectives. I did the things you’re supposed to do. They caught a suspect. I didn’t care. I went to the police lineup anyway. I didn’t recognize anyone. I was told there were other victims. There was a grand jury hearing, a sentencing, he went to jail. Everyone said, “Isn’t that great.” That’s the short version.

Through the course of these events, I completely, excruciatingly, grotesquely, fell apart. Then somehow, slowly, miraculously, with a lot of support through therapy and group therapy, I found my way back together again. I kept on living because I didn’t have a choice, although there were many months I wouldn’t have cared if I had been run over by a truck and killed. But I figured if I were meant to be dead, it would have happened on that awful spring afternoon when a rapist followed me up the stairs. I felt a glimmer of purpose.

My Drive To Create "The Year After" I’ll never forget the moment I came up with the idea for The Year After. I was in the middle of a rage storm some 6 months after my rape, whaling on the sofa cushions with all my might, screaming into pillows, sobbing, face drenched with tears. I thought, “Someone should write a book. People need to know what this is really like.” The next thought was so surprising and clear it pulled me out of my tantrum. “I will write a book.” My journals became the seed for my story that doesn’t sugarcoat the almost unbearable pain of victimization and clumsy recovery, the book I wish I had been able to read during my year after.

In the end, it took a long time for me to write the book. For many years, the story was too raw and painful to revisit, even after I was feeling better and living a full life. Then, I was happily busy with other pressing interests and obligations. It was close to 20 years later when, finally, the time was right. I think the book needed a long incubation period because it allowed a broader viewpoint including my experience as a therapist. Even though the book focuses on year one, these perspectives subtly provide a drop of hope at the darkest passages: you know I made it through.

Intention While there are now many resources for healing, to my knowledge there are still very few that follow the dayto-day emotional rollercoaster of rape recovery. The mood swings, shame, doubt, PTSD, anxiety, fear, depression, hatred of every single living thing—shall I go on— are torture.

While everyone’s story and process of recovery is unique, some similarities are deep, which is why it feels good to hear from others. You need to know that what you’re feeling isn’t crazy. I hope that my readers feel less alone in reading The Year After. And empowered. I created The Year After Journal to help others process their own feelings and find their voices and tell their own stories, if only for themselves.

The Hardest Part of My Journey The most difficult period of recovery, for me, was when my shock wore off a few months after I was raped. Ironically, it was at that point that loved ones stopped asking how I was doing and got on with their own lives, assuming the worst was over. This is very common. In fact, the worst was just beginning. No longer numb, the rage and heartbreak nearly tore me up. Having regular therapy appointments was instrumental in my recovery, as was a 12-week group therapy treatment with other survivors.

Something Not Said Enough... The #metoo movement has created new opportunities for survivors to come forward with the security of knowing there is a community waiting to hear them, respect them, and support them. Social media at its best connects us for growth and healing. But even with such massive numbers of survivors coming forward, we witness how difficult it is to accept that rapists are usually members of our communities, and sometimes beloved local or even international celebrities. It’s hard to get our collective heads around the fact that most rapists are not men who hide behind stairwells, but who walk among us. This is a profoundly disturbing notion and that’s why it’s easier for many to hold victims responsible for rape rather than rapists. People think, “It’s that careless victim’s fault, and I’m not like her/him, so I’m safe.” Eight out of ten rapes are committed by someone the victim knows. Until we come to terms with this, victims will continue to suffer and rapists will not meet justice.

Advice To Who Can Relate Rape is a horrendous violation on every human level. You deserve to feel everything you feel: devastated, flat, on fire with rage, even hopeless. Don’t let well-meaning people try to talk you out of your feelings. When they say “count your blessings,” or “it could have been worse,” try not to slug them over the head because—truly —they know not what they say. I also find “You’re so strong,” to be irritating. I think you deserve to feel weak for a while. And here’s the truth: it is by feeling whatever hell you feel that eventually, you will not feel that way anymore. But you can’t tiptoe around recovery; you must go through it. Get yourself a Wonder Woman costume and wear it frequently for the journey.